She Said Run
by smithersboxx
Summary: In a turn of events, it is now Irene's turn to rescue the damsel in distress in a matter of repaying a certain consulting detective. Set before and during series three episode one. R/R.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE:**

"Suicide of a Fake Genius."

The headline jumped off of the computer screen and branded her mind. Only a few months of her exploring the shallow and depleating life of a suburban woman in the states had passed and already here was an open opportunity for her to escape the dreary life of a rather blan life.

Irene had this so-called "Fake Genius" to thank for her new, albeit normal, life. It seems the lies the Iceman and the Blogger had fed the consulting detective turned out to prove true. After a few pit stops of course.

The thought made a smirk spread across her striking features as she reminicsed about the sweltering heat of an almost fariy tale moment for not the first nor last time since she arrived in America.

_"Run." The single word echoed around Irene Adler in a baritone voice that had dropped a few octaves, hinting the adrenaline that pumped furiously through her saviour in a burka witholding a machete. _

Her bright, lively eyes flickered back up to the BBC website displayed on her browser as her mind refocussed on the present. Sherlock Holmes. The name ran itself over and over again inside her mind until the name was unknowingly being whispered underneath her sweet breath.

Suicide. The woman scoffed to herself. The idea was absurd and couldn't possibly be the final curtain call on the brilliant man. He was far to full of himself to go down like that, in angst and tragedy. His play was anything but a tragedy, perhaps a farce. Here that left Irene drumming her no longer immaculate fingernails against the space bar of her personal computer. Contemplating. Not on whether or not he was actually dead. Who would believe such a tall tale?

A gasp hitched in her throat. He would. The army doctor. The blogger. The best friend. Only friend.

_Sweat, dirt, blood, and other unmentionable items clung to her pale skin as she rode silently nexr to the detective in a 'borrowed' recreational vehicle. _

_"He will worry." Her own voice sounded unfamilar and hoarse to her own ears as she broke the silence, similarly as he had done with a machete twenty minutes ago._

_"Yes." The man under the hooded burka acknowledged. _

Of course. The thoughts came flooding into her mind as if a dam of realization had collapsed in on itself.

Moriarty.

_"Oh dear, has my slender little kitty cat taken to a new hand who dared feed her? Oh no, he played with her. She liked it did she? Abandoned her previous owner. Naughty. Little kitty cats lives have run out." A sickly sweet voice, comparable to cianide coated in sugar, hummed into her ear. "Run, run as fast as you can." The consulting criminal sang. _

The spider made her figure her own death, it seemed it was the detectives turn as well.

On a spring day in London, a news report was spread across the world and reached another United Nation. It saved a woman from drowning herself in her own kitchen sink due to her own boredom. And on this present day, a certain detective needed saving.

**Authors Note: This is my first fanfiction. I come bearing a prompt for Sherlockians and the few Adlock shippers out there(Stay strong my fellow brothers and sisters). I apologize for any and all spelling and grammar mistakes. I have but myself and a cellphone. Hold on to your scarves ladies and gents. **

**Xx Smith**


	2. Chapter 1: Higher and Higher

As usual in her deemed situations, timing was a necessity. She had to calculate the timing between the fall and the time it took for the story to make a headline of itself. Not to mention the time zone gap between herself and the beloved home of her past life. He would move fast. That only meant she would have to move faster. Which wasn't a problem due to her limbs practically shaking with anticipation. To think a dead man could do this to her.

Whilst gathering her a small suitcase, she had playing one of the many news reports over her computer about the incident. Apparently there were not one, but two dead bodies found. One belonging to James Moriarty or Richard Brook(had they still not caught on yet?). Fools. A blow straight through his brain. In front of Sherlock no doubt. The morticians deemed him dead, but they also had deemed her dead as well. Irene Adler had learned to keep an open mind when it came to death. Seeing as though this was not her first, nor probably last, shot at playing dead. For a dead woman she was awfully loud.

He would need clothes no doubt, clean clothes. Clothes that fit. Unlike those button ups that he thought fit. The buttons practically popped off herself, making her job that much easier. He did look striking in purple. All of these thoughts passed through her mind that was running over a million different things at once as her petite fingers slammed against her keyboard at top speed. Plane tickets. Destinations. Clothes. Disguises. Mycroft. Moriarty's network. Explanations. Dear god at the time.

Plane tickets. Booked through a discrete, small travel agency. With the help of her new ID and passports under the name of Guinevere Williams.

Destination. First stop London. Like any other detective she had to start at the source and follow tracks. Tracks of a dead man that were being covered and more than likely were already covered.

Clothes. Hers were packed, his were currently being brought to her apartment after being ordered online. It would seem suspicious for a single woman out buying tasteful and expensive mens clothes. Sherlock wasn't the only person whose eyes were left wandering and calculating. She had had her fair share of appreciating the detectives body, which now proved useful in more ways than one.

Disguises. Hers was already taken care of. With the upkeep of a hair trim and hair colouring, as well as her mind set in fashion set to the simple life of a New York Broadway actress, which was favoured over the striking and seductive apparel of a raging dominatrix with a love for power. His disguise however, would already be in place, he was a clever little thing that she need not worry for.

Mycroft. The elder Holmes indubitably knew of the position of his younger brother, the tact he was pulling would take more than one Holmes to fool the whole world. Though the British government would be forced to turn a blind eye to the entirety of the situation. After all, appearance and outlook was important to the Iceman. Which he without a doubt told himself with every piece of cake he allowed to go through his mouth. The blind eye he would cast would prove useful to the Woman as she provided Sherlock with the watchful protection he had so kindly given her.

_Her eyes were the only thing that hinted that this was the same woman he had first met. They flickered out the window and stared at him in what was it? Admiration? Not likely. Lust? Of course, everyone did. That however, wasn't what was most present in her watchful eyes. Her stare pierced through him, making his body tense ever so slightly as he constantly commanded himself inwardly to keep his eyes on the dusty road in front of him. The scarred hands of the detective gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter as he fought through the silence. _

_"I believe I have a debt that will take a lifetime to pay off. Let's start with dinner." The Woman spoke finally._

_"There will be refreshments and breakfast at the hotel. Honestly Woman, it's hardly an ideal time for dinner." He chided as he allowed himself a quick glance at her seated form. _

_"You will be safe there. You'll find a man in debt to me there, you two should get along greatly, he withholds all of the information of your next life. Passports to brochures of attractions. Your protection. In a small file. Your new life." He explained quickly, a boastful grin appearing on his features. He was rather good wasn't he?_

Moriarty's network. No doubt his web weaved in and out of the entire continent of Europe and perhaps beyond that as well. His closest henchman(no henchwoman, Irene prided herself on being the one and only) would be the ones also closest to Sherlock. Others would be positioned around the world, waiting to have their go at the detective. They would have access to footage of airports internationally which wouldn't be a problem as long as she blended in. Her reputation had no doubt spread and was lingering even though her death was prominent within the spiders elaborate web.

Explanations of her sudden departure from New York to her fellow nieghbors, sisters wedding in Scotland. Her porcelain skin and fair ginger locks would explain the relation to the country.

Time. Her flight left from a small airport in a plane that carried no more than six passengers in approximately sixty minutes. In six hours she would be arriving off of an uncomfortable flight to an airport just outside of Liverpool.

Latitude 38° 55'N, longitude 41° 21' 23.

"Miss Adler has left the country. Do you want me to follow and restrain her Sir?" A male voice spoke into a receiver as he carefully studied the footage of a hidden security camera.

"Mm..." A second voice pondered, the background noises of a loading rifle could be heard. A theraputic past time, "No. She is making my job that much easier." An amuses chuckle erupted from his chest. "How sweet. No, we will reunite the woman with her criminal past time soon enough. Irene Adler will lead us to the detective. Which will lead me to vengence. They think they are so clever. Prancing around, involving themselves. I think I may have found my new favourite reality television show, don't you think?"

A harmony of deep hearted laughter was shared through the passing of two devices, rising higher and higher as Irene's plane rose higher and higher in altitude.

"Oh yes sir Mr. Moran."


End file.
